The Rain Is Clearing

There's a light rain on Alexandria today, a signal of the warmer and milder days that Eatonis brings, and it's a mild enough rain that most are just wearing cloaks or even going without if they don't have far to go at all.

But in the Market District, there is a rather tall sith with turquoise scales that is... struggling. She looks a tad alarmed as rain falls from the sky and hits her on the snout. "Ay, why are the people here so content to be rained on?" she complains, and she ducks under a large parasol that provides cover for a table. Her piercing yellow eyes, accented by lines of red, seem to glare at the softskins around her, but that might be an illusion by the red lines.

Either way, she then grumbles. "Stupid girl," she mumbles. "You did not find food _before_ you took shelter."

A tall blue-scale male comes out of the shop just to her right and behind her. He is carrying a few items, including a basket, several folded pieces of blue cloth and a cloak over his arm. The male pauses to bow to the proprietor of the shop he just left and heads toward the table that the other sith is using as a cover. He doesn't notice her initially, but when he does he pauses, the water dripping off his dark blue scales as he blinks and impolitely stares.

Realizing abruptly what he's doing, he continues forward, ducking his head somewhat to her. "Peassce on your nessst. May thiss one usse thisss table?"

There is a moment where the turquoise-scaled sith looks back at him, golden eyes lined with red making for quite a stare, and then her tail slaps the ground in a greeting. "Peace on your nest, kin of a different tribe," she replies, bowing her head as well. "Stay safe from the rain with me. This one does not know how the weather spirits here will act, but this one will do the best to protect you."

In fact, she offers another wary glance at the sky, and a huffed-snort leaves her, a sort of anxiousness to her that suggests she really will have to enter combat with... the weather spirits. Or at the very least, negotiations--

And then comes the rumble of her stomach. The turquoise-scaled sith's eyes nictate. That might explain things. "This one has not eaten since arrival to this softskin city. This one does not know the custom of food here."

The darker of the two 'blue' scaled sith nods again perhaps a little over-politely to the female he sets his things down on the table and begins to carefully put his cloak on over his shoulders. It's got a small patch on it near the edge, but is otherwise a fine cloak. "Sssa. Thisss one hass never fought the sssky-sspiritss before; it rainsss often here in thisss sscity." He gives her a bit of a interested look and then nods.

"You are new to Alexadria then? Thisss one will warn you not to eat the sssmall animalsss of the scity. Mossst are petsss or familiarsss of thossse that live here. They do not take kindly to the eating of them, nor even the sssuggessstion that they might be tasssty." He shakes his head in bemusement and then seems to consider something a moment. "You may ssshare thisss onesss meal if you like. Thisss one hasss sssome fisssh, fruit, and vegitablesss."

The turquoise-scaled sith returns her gaze fully to Zeke, embarrassment in her body language in the way that only a fellow sith can glean. "This one assumed that the softskins might have trouble with the spirits, but only because this one has never interacted with softskins who work with them. Or... any in the way of softskins at all. This one is ignorant of many peoples' customs and ways."

Her eyes nictate again, but she gives sort of a pleased rumble as Zeke offers her advice and to share his meal. "This one would be pleased to share your meal. This one is called Cuemoni, Shaman of the Xiuhcoatl. Why do the softskins have small animals that they do not eat, even if they are tasty?"

"Ssssaaah." Zeke rumbles with understanding, only another sith such as she would know that he was in truth not fully comfortable, if the reason remains unknown. He motions to the chairs. He takes one in his own hands and turns it around (the better for avoiding tail-trouble) and sits down carefully. His tail curls around the chair legs. A sure sign of a sith being somewhat guarded.

He reaches into his basket and begins to pull out his meal. It's a somewhat large affair, which means that sharing it will be no hardship. The fish is offered first, him giving the female subtly larger portions than his own. "Thisss one doesss not know exactly? Thisss one knowss that familiarsss are kept becaussse they aid thosssse with magic in the ussse of their sspellss. Ssshamanss of the People often ussse them ass well yesss?"

Zeke looks at her respectfully and ducks his head humbly. "The othersss they call 'petsss' who it ssseemss trade mouse-hunting and company for ssafety from being eaten."

Cuemoni's rumbling is pleased as she takes the portions of fish. She eats simply and quickly, with her hands and claws, and her tail thumps against the ground in appreciation--as much as it can manage, considering the configuration of what she's sitting in. "The familiars are used by Shamans, yes," she says. "Some, but not all. They are different; they are not animals. They are gifts of magic. In this one's tribe, there were tales of gifted serpents sent by our guardian spirit, but the last of our kin with this gift passed before this one's hatching."

She takes a moment to finish her portion of fish, golden eyes regarding Zeke. "This one would like to know what to call you, kin among strange people. Otherwise, this one might give you a name if you do not."

Zeke rumbles in amusement, at her suggestion that she might call him by some nickname. "Thisss one apologizesss. Thisss one ssshould have sssaid. Thisss one isss called Zeke." His own green eyes are busy with his task of dividing the fruit and vegetables up. He smells distinctly wary and just a touch embarrassed how ever. His posture one of a sith trying to be unobtrusive. She will know of course, that Zeke is not at all a sith name.

The golden eyes on Cuemoni nictate again, and she seems... curious, yet pleased for simply having the courtesy of a name. "Zeke," she says, tasting it like she's about to taste the fruit and vegetables. "This one is pleased to meet you this day, Zeke. Even if the sky spirits send rain."

Once he's done dividing up the portions of fruit and vegetables, she reaches for hers and begins to feed herself. In a quiet moment between bites, she asks, "How do you serve the People, Zeke? This one wears her symbols as a Shaman with pride, so this one is curious."

Zeke arches one brow ridge upwards in curiosity and lets out another low chuckle. "Thisss one isss ssshaman-cassste alssso." He motions with a free claw to his white vestments. "Thisss one ssservess the Dragonfather asss a healer." Simple words, but they explain much and he does not offer more than are necessary, instead eating his own meal with maw and claws.

There's a distinct sense and smell of approval from Cuemoni--both in regards to Zeke's caste, his service to the Dragonfather, and even in the meal. "This one should have known," she rumbles appreciatively. "In this one's tribe, the shamans wear symbols. That is the purpose of the lines and symbols painted onto my scales. But not all of the People do. You, a healer--that makes sense to this one. You carry yourself like one." There's a little bit of a gentle tease there. "You came to this one in need, after all."

She finishes a bite of her portion. "How long have you lived here in this city of softskins?" she asks. "This one apologizes for so many questions, but the flame of curiosity burns bright today."

Zeke's tail moves in an easy sway, his posture relaxing somewhat as they talk. He grows out of his shell a little bit with each passing moment. Her complement spurs a bit of embarrassment and pleasure. He likes the fact that he 'seems' like a healer. "Thisss one doess not mind the quessstionsss. Curiossssity isss a good thing. Thisss one doess wear a ssymbol of the Dragonfather." He pulls a round disk from under his robes and lays it on top. It is a familiar symbol of Daeus in the shape of his form as the Dragonfather.

"Thisss one isss unsssure how long have lived here, been among the ssoftssskinsss for... a hundred yearsss? More if you count..." Here Zeke tenses slightly and looks down again. "Thisss one wasss among othersss not of the People for eighty yearsss. Ssaa. Thisss one growsss old."

He looks at her. "How many ssseasssonssss do you count?"

Cuemoni rumbles appreciatively at the symbol of the Dragonfather. "You are a healer indeed. This one appreciates the Dragonfather and His followers, although this one does not follow so closely the Great Dragons. This one was identified as one who works with spirits and elements after the first year, and the Elder who shares my scales trained me."

The look in her golden eyes and her smell turn sympathetic and comforting. "This one believes you are not so old yet," she replies. "As long as the People draw breath, we live. That is what is important. So long as we are remembered, we live. So long as our stories and songs are sung and spoken, we live. And for every breath we have, the People have reason to rejoice, no matter how dark the night."

She pauses for a moment. "This one has lived one-hundred and four years," she says. "This one had to think about it. In this one's tribe, we place more importance on our sacred cycle. Xiuhcoatl, our guardian spirit, blesses our tribe with an egg every fifty-two years, that hatches with turquoise scales. This one was the last to survive their first year."

Her golden eyes darken. "But this year, no turquoise-scales hatched. And the Elder has grown sick. This one has left the tribe to seek help and answers."

Zeke listens attentively, his meal quite finished. Perhaps the meal large as it had been, had been intended solely for him? He seems troubled by her troubles, and seems to think very carefully. "That isss... troubling indeed. Thisss one learned rescently that thisss onesss tribe wasss plauged by sssmall hatchingsss. Only one egg per scycle. Perhapsss the two are connected in sssome way?" It is not a nice thought to think, that the People are dwindling. That they are... cursed. "Thisss one wasss sssuch a hatchling." So a trouble many years in the brewing. Since by his own words he is at least twice her age.

Cuemoni finishes her portion as well, although the satisfaction of the meal is overruled by concern with the theory that Zeke puts forward. She rumbles a little. "Perhaps there are spirits the People must appease," she says, "if this calamity is not contained only to this one's tribe. Perhaps we must appease the Great Dragons, if they are displeased."

She regards Zeke for a moment with those golden eyes of hers, staring at him. "Your tribe's curse matches this one's tribe in one aspect. Less hatchlings in this one's tribe are surviving their first year--many do not survive now, as they are weak and sickened, or are snatched up by predators. There was pressure on this one to seek a mate, but this one was not ready, and the Elder said this one was intended to go beyond the tribe."

There's a discomfort in that subject, and her tail thumps as she lets out a rumble. "This one must find answers, at any rate. The People may be in danger if our thoughts are true."

There seems to be understanding in Zeke. He lets out a low rumble. "Mating isss a ssseriousss thing, one doess not enter into it lightly. For many of the People it isss... not sssso sseriousss, but thisss one undersstandss not being ready. Thisss one iss glad that you were able to convince othersss of your need." He has not in fact really met her eyes even once. "Sssa. Thisss one isss nearly three and a half scenturiesss now, and thisss one iss unlikely to ever give hatchlingsss to the People."

He offers a faint flick of his tail in false amusement at his own words. "If thisss one learnsss any-thing of thisss, thisss one will tell you. Thisss one wisshess to assisst the People asss.... asss thisss one can."

A huff comes from Cuemoni. "Others in this one's tribe do not understand. It is not so serious to them. But the Elder's word and assurance of a vision that is not caring for hatchlings kept them from hounding this one about it. This one simply is not ready. This one will choose a suitable partner when ready--after this one's work is done."

Those golden eyes of hers settle on Zeke, and it's clear that she notices that he won't quite meet her gaze... But she does not address it. "This one does not think you should resign to a fixed fate," she says. "The future is not known. But there is also no shame in no hatchlings, and if your three and half centuries are in service as a healer--then this one will ensure you are remembered. Hatchlings or no."

She then casts a glance down to the chair she'd wedged herself in. An annoyed rumble leaves her lips. "Ay. This one was so distraught by a perceived displeasure from the sky spirits that this one managed to get stuck. Softskins!"

Zeke huffs an amused noise and rises from his own seat smoothly. "Thisss one will aid." He says and gently closes his basket before offering his flesh-and-blood claw to the female. "Here. Thisss one will pull you, and you pusssh the chair yesss?" All the other things she had said are unspoken of. Pushed aside by his desire to help her.

Cuemoni makes a frustrated noise, but she takes the claw that's offered to her. She feels _warm_ to the touch, despite the rain and mild temperature. "This one is... pussssssshhhhing--!" she grunts, doing as he suggests. Her golden eyes look up at him to complete the equation.

Zeke pulls - hard - to accompany her efforts to rise. He does not have the strength of some sith he can think of, but he is no weakling either. There are muscles beneath those robes and scales. With his handsome features and usually calming scent it is a wonder that no female has chosen him as a mate. For the first time their eyes actually meet as he pulls her to her feet, and he is ready to catch her should she stumble.

And with the strength behind them both, Cuemoni is pulled out! There's a moment where it she leans in a little too close as the result of Zeke's strength, and her wide golden eyes, as well as her scent, indicate her surprise on multiple levels.

Then she seems to remember they are very close for two individuals of the People who have just met, and she takes a step back, letting go of Zeke's claw. But she does not turn her face away from Zeke, golden eyes with red paint trained on him. "This one thanks you for your aid, Zeke," she manages after a moment. "Otherwise, this one might have had to figure out how to walk in this softskin city while adhered to a softskin chair."

Zeke chuckles, and the sound of genuine amusement out of him is a... good sound. He shifts his tail back and forth, finally relaxed, finally meeting her gaze without his eyes slipping to the sides. "Thisss one could not have allowed that." He bows his head to her. "Thisss one isss glad to have been of asssisstance to you Cuemoni. Thisss one isss glad to have met you." His warm words are genuine and he ducks his head again, this time in a gesture of respect. He then moves to collect his things.

There's a moment where the turquoise-scaled sith regards him with a curious glance, as though she really is trying to figure out a puzzle of sorts presented to her. Eventually, however, her tail thumps on the ground in appreciation. "Are you often at the Dragonfather's Temple here in the city?" Cuemoni asks. "In the case this one needs... assistance, with navigating the city, and learning the customs. This one promises not to trouble you, as your work with a healer is important, but this one is... easily defeated by things such as softskin chairs, and may need your aid."

It's a bit of a weak excuse to come see Zeke again, but it's clear from both expression and scent that she's at least genuine in her hope and warmth. The twitch of her tail is mildly nervous, perhaps if Zeke says no.

"Yessss." He says easily, as if unaware of her nerves. He glances toward her as he picks up first his basket and slides it up his crystal arm. "Thisss one isss often there, or in the temple dissstrict. Or here." He tilts his head to look at the sky briefly, then picks up his bundle of cloth. It seems like it might be a collection of more blue cloaks. "Ssseemss that the sssky sssspiritsss are becoming lesss angry. Perhapsss we will even sssee the Dragonfather'ss light today. That would be nisce."

His gaze meets hers and he shifts his tail in goodwill. "If you long for it though, and can not find it, the Dragonfather'sss temple alwaysss holdsss Hisss light and Hiss warmth. You will find your-ssself welcome there."

The shake of the tail doesn't quite disappear as Zeke confirms Cuemoni's idea about the Dragonfather's Temple being where he can be most often found, as she gives another glance up to the sky. The rain is, indeed, lightening, and she gives an appreciative rumble. _That_ is when her tail stops its twitch, and her gaze meets his. "This one thanks you again," she says, "for your openness and your warmth. This one will bring a meal that may be shared together for the next meeting."

She turns about. "Peace upon your nest, Shaman Zeke," she intones.

-End